


My Downfall, My Muse

by lizandletdie



Series: 500 Follower Promptathon [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, belle is married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandletdie/pseuds/lizandletdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artist Rum reflects on his neighbor and muse, Mrs. Belle LeFou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Downfall, My Muse

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompted:  
> A prompt where Rum is a painter. His neighbour, Mrs. Belle LeFou, is his source of inspiration.
> 
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He’d never get sick of sketching her if he lived to be a hundred.  Rum was not a young man, and he’d been making a living painting for longer than he cared to own but he’d never quite been inspired like he had since moving to this lake house.

It wasn’t the change of scenery, though, that had his brushes working feverishly into the night nor his mind obsessively recalling every detail.

That was all Belle.

It was nothing, really.  A hopeless little crush.  She was twenty years his junior and she was married, she was also beautiful and kind and completely out of his league.

She’d come over with muffins and conversation for the poor man who was home all day.  He knew she was lonesome, that her husband was gone too long.  She’d not admitted any of this, he could just tell.  She’d admired his paintings and made jokes about being a subpar housewife wasting her degree in library sciences and he’d known then that he wanted to steal her away and do nothing but try to capture the exact way that morning light played against her skin through his kitchen window.

He’d said nothing, though, merely thanked her for her kind welcome and watched her far too long.  Later he’d returned the favor by rescuing her when the sink exploded and she was home alone.  He’d fixed the broken pipe for her and she’d stood at the counter keeping him company in bare feet and an apron as she made zucchini bread.

"My husband is very old fashioned," she’d given by way of explanation when he asked her why she spent the days alone.

She deserved more than a leaky faucet and the company of an old man.

But sometimes, when she was standing at the edge of the lake and the sun hit it just right he could imagine capturing her for just a moment to have as his own.

Instead, he would hold her in his mind and frantically try to translate the magic that was  _Belle_  onto canvas using oils and paintbrushes.  It was some of his best work and it was never good enough. _  
_

He never told her of his obsession, never showed her what he was working on when she asked.

If he were a braver man, he’d wrap one up and give it to her.  He’d let her know how much she meant to him, let her see that she was at least valued by one person in her life no matter how little he mattered to her.  He’d let her know she’d inspired beauty, for she was beauty.

But he was not a brave man, and so he locked her away and kept this little piece of her at least for himself.


End file.
